


Jǫkull Bjǫrn

by RottieBones



Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: M/M, characters TBA but ya, guess i'm doing this get ready, lil bit of violence probably but nothing graphic...yet, maybe some angst but not much, mostly tusk and his backstory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-16 10:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13634865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RottieBones/pseuds/RottieBones
Summary: A thousand years under your belt and you'd think you've seen the world, but there's so much more. Tusk knows this- he'd watched the world grow with him, from good and bad. He'd been everywhere, too, as far as he could explore, but yet there were still things left undiscovered.This came as a waking message when his business and his expertise crossed trails with the infamous- or famous Trollhunter and his little party. Tusk knew not to get involved, but, adventure never comes when you're looking for it. Adventure finds you.But maybe you find some other things, too.





	1. Grown Ocean

Old as the mountains that scraped the skies and held inumerable secrets. For all he knew, he could be considered a mountain now. Still as the starlight that he could still feel reflected across the patterning of his stone skin, and from within he felt a burning that only came from the pure feeling he felt, alone in the wind of a late night breeze with the light setting his hair aglow.   
  


He’d seen children grow old and pass, he’d seen the world turn so many times, he’d been wherever the need befit him. And in that picturesque vision he felt wood beneath his feet, his claws working into the grooves of it and the slow, monotonous rock of a ship on the waves. Hands clutching something firmly as it strained against his fingers, curled into a fist- it was a wheel, a familiar one, he knew. He could smell ice. He could smell the water that licked the ice, in its entirety, the scent of stretched sails and the sound of the wind that pushed and swirled into them. 

 

The North Star, an old Nordic vessel that rode the waves. This was his ship. The sails, patterned with his emblem, the voices that rose above the wind in an old melody that echoed over time and clung to his ears in traces, notes that he’d hum even in the presence of silence. He’d hum that tune to the end of the world, to the end of time, should he last it.   
  


Blue cuffs rattled against his wrists with the sound of a dull chime, as same as the cuffs adorning his braided hair. The moon only intensified the soft shine of the jewelry, it’s opalized bone glimmering with streaks of white within with likeness of a frosted glacier. The water glittered with it’s sister moon that reflected so brilliantly. He breathed a sigh and turned to speak to someone-someone there- but there was nobody, or, so it felt- it was empty, alone. He frowned. She wasn’t there. She was always there. Where was she? She was gone. 

 

And then the scene shifted, and he was in a market- a deep long stretch with music and smells, Limestone, Granite, and Marble stretching onwards between and through the shops that lined the market. Veins of jade stretched onward in the walls. Somewhere, he could smell Eucalyptus and Oranges, amid the assortment of fried foods and the scent of meat cooking. Maybe there was fish? He couldn’t tell. Something kept repeating in his mind. Where was she? Where was she? Where was she? She is not here. Why is she not here? 

 

Something told him it was morning, despite the lack of a view of the sky. How did he know this? He trudged slowly between the blurred, obscured facial features that passed him by. 

  
  


The scene shifted sooner this time, and his stomach lurched, as the smoke burned off and cleared, seeing himself face-to-face with the muzzle of a musket, the horrified eyes of a white man. He was instinctively driven to clutch his chest, though he could not tear his eyes away from the man. Why was he scared? Had he done something wrong? There was pain. Pain blossoming from where his hand clutched. His eyes wandered to settle on a wound- his chest plate armor shattered, bent inward. Into his chest. Everything felt like falling. He felt small. What was happening, why did it feel familiar? Why was there the increasing feeling of Deja-Vu? 

  
  


She wasn’t here with him. She was gone. She’d been gone for so long. Was it his fault? Was he the reason why she was taken? He felt anger bubbling in his throat. He wished he was here, he had so much to tell her. So many things to share. He’d seen so much. She was gone, and he knew he was too late, very late. Centuries too late. Even if he’d found here she would not be… there. Only remains of a past he’d lost too soon. 

 

But… I’ll see you again soon. One day. I’ll see you, I swear it. He repeated this to himself as the memories blurred and darkened and became flashes of color that eventually faded out. 

  
  


I’ll see you again. 

  
  
  


Tusk woke up. 


	2. Astray

There was music from the 40’s playing somewhere- did he leave the music player on again? A human man’s deep voice sang songs of love, something dreamy from an old age.

 

Tusk didn’t need to sleep. Trolls didn’t sleep, usually. Never needed to. Yet… old habits still stuck, for him. Once he had a taste of the human concept of dreams… dreaming… there was no going back, he was immersed in the practice, even if it brought little rest to him.

 

The day he salvaged a human mattress- a huge one, just carelessly dumped because some wasteful creature no longer needed it- well, he decided to build his own bed. It took a long time, gathering enough to make a sturdy frame that held him, all the while he was hoarding blankets, pillows, and more importantly… stuffed animals, which he proudly held a huge collection of. Mostly bears. Almost all were bears. Maybe he had a problem, but he didn’t dwell on that matter. It’s not like other trolls would ever know, right?

 

His bedroom was the backroom of his store.

 

 

 

Stumbling out of bed, he brushed through his hair with an old white comb and went about his daily routine, tying his hair back finding his glasses… they were at his desk. Slipping into a soot-stained cornflower apron and sitting at aforementioned desk, his hand found the end of the scrappy-looking lamp that sat over his work. Light flickered to life, and he was lost in his work again. He’d leave the music player on for now.

 

Tusk made jewelry. Any shape, size, type, facet, carving- it was his expertise. Humming along to the sound of a slow beat jazz song as he twisted copper wiring, pulled strands of melted glass into beads, moved onward into the day inlaying precious stones into a band of silver. Lost in his work, as per the usual.

 

At least, until the bell rang. Rather obnoxiously, at that.

Only one troll rang the bell like that.

 

 

 

 

  


“Nika, please don’t break that bell, it’s hundreds of years old.” Were the first words from his mouth as he slipped through the doorway into his shop.

“ _Almost_ as old as you are, then, no?” Was the husky accent of a stout, tall troll, built with the physique of a human bodybuilder. Her arms pulled away from the ancient bell and settled to be crossed, but there was a playful expression on her face, amid the innumerous piercings in her pink marble skin. Tusk smiled, unable to keep his psuedo-serious tone with her.

“...Yes. _Almost._ Anyways, what are you here for? Necklace, earrings, new piercings? I have some Alexandrite pieces that would accent your skin perfectly…” He turned, trailing to find the display case for body piercings.

“Er, not quite here for jewelry. Well, maybe I will look at Alexandrite. Have been needing new pieces.” She grunted, leaning over the counter casually.  

“Then you’re here for…?”

“ _You,_ dummy.” Nika barked, cracking a sharp-toothed grin. Tusk frowned.

“If you’re about to ask me to spar with you again, we just did that yesterday. Don’t you ever get tired?”

“I am never tired!” She belted out, laughing loudly.

 

“...Right.” Tusk returned with a small box of assorted piercings. He remembered carving these himself, late night, knowing that Nika would like them. His ears twitched absentmindedly.

“You are doing it again.” She grunted, turning her attention to the box and picking through it.   
“Doing what?” He inquired.

“Ears. They move. You are very expressive with your ears. They wiggle like a bat.” She moved a hand to her head to imitate the movement. Tusk cracked a soft grin.

“Like a bat? I’m sure other trolls do the same.”

“Nope, not many. Never seen one do it. You are different. Not a bad thing, though. It is cute.” Her hands delved into the box and pulled a pair of band earrings out, holding them to her round, hyena-like ears. Her eyes flickered to Tusk with a questioning expression.

“They look good, don’t worry.  As do the rest. I made them with you in mind.” His fingers fidgeted with a spool of silver wire on his counter. _That’s_ where he’d put that.

 

“I… will buy the box.” She hummed, after a period of silence as she tried each piece out.

“Thought so. How are you paying today, then?” Tusk smiled warmly, boxing the pieces and handing it to her.

Nika started to pull a piercing from her face, but Tusk made a squawking noise that stopped her.

“No, nono, I sold you those, the gold looks fine on you. You don’t gotta just trade things out.” He huffed, his ears now flattened back against his head. Nika snorted.

“Fine. I will be errand-girl for you and bring you more supplies, just once.” She offered, raising an eyeridge. Tusk was taken aback.

“Would you really? I’d appreciate that, greatly.”

“Yes. Just once.” She sniffed, then continued. “Also taking you to the pub tonight. You need to get out. Socialize. You sit back here in darkest corner of Trollmarket. No party, no drinks.”

“I go to the pub! And I _do_ socialize. I just prefer the peace and quiet of here where trolls come to me on their own initiative.” He mumbled, crossing his arms.

 

“And look at you. You sit in empty corner and drink alone. You have some friends. No girl. You are 1,000 years old. Far older than me. Look at all of the old things you have! You are interesting. Find someone who is interested in you.” Nika grunted, staring him down with a hard expression.

“...Maybe I’m not interested in girls.” He pouted, avoiding eye contact.

“That explains much. Fine, more for me, then. Get yourself a man, Tusk, I know you’ll want one eventually.” She pressed.

 

It was true, but he’d keep to himself about it. Not even Nika knew how he’d repeatedly grow useless crushes on trolls that wandered into his shop. It hurt for a bit, but faded off, usually within a week. It was his personal cycle, he’d deal with it. He was far too timid to act upon his desires, regardless. Tusk sighed.

 

“I’ll go tonight, because I know you won’t leave me alone about it. And I do need a drink, so you win.” He admitted, finally.

“No win for me. I just want to see you happy. Tusk. You are my friend.” Her expression softened with her tone.

“I understand some trolls never find partner. If that is what they want, that is their choice. I am not one to decide their fate. But I see you. I see your eyes. You have sad eyes. Something hurt you. Maybe many things. You are looking to fill a hole in here.” She placed a hand on his chest.

“I know, I know. And I appreciate your efforts, but… I’m just… I don’t think other trolls here are going to understand me. Me, or my history, or how I act- Most here are lovely, and nice to get along with, but focus on simple things. I don’t think a troll would appreciate my age, the things I’ve collected… Sorry, I just unloaded a lot on you.” He became hyperaware of what he was saying, feeling an embarrassed heat seep into his ears and the rims of his eyes. Nika frowned.

 

“You did, but I do not mind. But you assume things. Lots of trolls here have more depth to them. What of Anaya, or Scarab? You see Draal, he is not two-dimension. You see Vendel, he is very important. Very old, and smart. You are too timid to reach out and look for those trolls. Or speak to them. You are less bear, more mouse. Not honest with yourself. Be the bear again. Not tiny mouse.” Her eyes filled with a strange sympathy as she spoke.

 

Tusk closed his eyes, but nodded in acknowledgement of her words.

 

“Come, we will drink tonight. I will go get Scarab and Anaya. Maybe Kurok. They will love to see you. Close up shop and meet me in… 2 hours.” She turned, and left the shop, padding out with her usual confident trot.

 

Tusk was left to stew on her words, as he cleaned up, changing out of his glasses and apron and leaving them on his desk. Unpinning his hair, he stood for a minute, letting the mass of white curls tumble over his shoulders like water over rocks, hanging loose before he once more brushed them free of tangles. His fingers worked precisely, with a thousand-year old rhythm, parting his hair into two identical frontal braids, but leaving a mass in the back to hang free. Then came the cuffs to hold the braids in place as he worked. As it had always been.

 

Tusk stared at himself in the broken mirror, and traced a finger over the deep scar in the rightmost side of his chest. Sometimes it still hurt. It hurt this morning, he recalled, after waking up. Peculiar, how he couldn’t even remember what he was dreaming about. He almost never could. He knew it was something to do with the wound.

 

Tusk left for the night.


	3. The Cowardly Bear

He got home late. Later than usual, for the least. Kurok had drank too much and they had ended up babysitting him while he tried to pick a brawl with Scarab. Scarab, of course, as per usual, ignored his attempts and focused on their drink, trying to hide a toothy smile.

 

Nika was right, he had needed a night out, and his friends were more or less overjoyed to see him. It was nice, to know you were wanted, he decided. Still, something felt… empty. Nika’s words had gotten to him more than he’d intended to let them- not that they’d hurt him, but there was an upheaval of life as he knew it. Something felt uncomfortable and he danced around the subject and metaphorically threw a blanket over it to silence it.

 

Tusk was lonely.

 

 

 

 

He decided not to dream that night, and instead made up for lost time by immersing himself deeply in his work. The music player was on, some young man’s ranged voice singing sadly over the mix of modern guitar, notes of an xylophone carrying out occasionally behind the vocals and the drumbeat that steadily helped him pace his work, humming absentmindedly to lyrics he’d listened to a hundred times over. How addicting, human music was, however sad and forlorn it could sound. It was beautiful to him, though maybe he held a childhood bias. His hands brushed over the strands of beads he was stringing as he worked, winding and stamping leather and writing inventory.

 

_Right back out of my stride._

 

Tusk read over the lists and checked the numbers, squinting and editing where he’d made mistakes. Add, subtract. Finish the bracelet, add a number.

 

_I feel the change in the rising tide._

 

Tusk closed his eyes momentarily, letting the brief vertigo overtake him as he attempted to remember anything else he had to finish before he went back to making new pieces. Nika’s jewelry. Subtract from the inventory, make a note about her owed payment. Loose note in the ledger, hoped it didn’t fall free and get lost.

 

_And blood is in the room._

 

His ear twitched. He’d tuned out for a moment but the lyrics brought him back to awareness of his surroundings. A cold, uncomfortable feeling crawled up his throat. Stamp more leather, string more beads. Fire up the lampwork torch, put on his apron. Tie his hair back. He was wearing his glasses already when he started on numbers, though he’d forgotten he was even wearing them.

 

_I buried all my wrongs there with my youth._

 

He winced, suddenly, as if he was recoiling from a viper bite. His work screeched to a halt as he turned and stood from his chair, quickly striding over to the music player and changing the music to something upbeat. It’s not helping anything to be listening to sad music, he decided, trying to brush off a subconscious crawl of guilt down his back.

 

As quickly as he was up, he was sitting at his desk again, trying to continue his work.

 

His hands trembled for a little while, though he didn’t notice.

 

 

 

  


Tusk worked until whatever constituted as a morning hour in Trollmarket, to which he finally took anything that was ready to sell out front, shelving, casing, hanging up for viewing. Then absentmindedly he edited the ledger once more, leaning over the counter as he focused on his work.

 

“Tusk- Tusk! Gorgas, you miss everything back here!” His attention was torn from the updated ledger, which he’d been staring at absentmindedly.  “Haven’t you ever considered moving to somewhere more… populated? I can’t be your newstroll all the time.” A tall, thin troll stood in front of his desk, their arms crossed. Their tall, angular ears pointed straight up, giving them the appearance of being constantly alert. Their Sandstone skin glistened with Hematite inlays that patterned their shoulders and chin.

 

“Scarab, though I _appreciate_ it, I never _asked_ you specifically to be my newstroll.” He laughed, resting on the counter with crossed arms, meeting the troll with a questioning gaze. Scarab couldn’t keep a straight face any longer, giggle-snorting excitedly.

 

“I knooooow, but I just love to gossip- er, spread the news. Yeah.” Tusk raised an eyeridge questioningly.  

“NO REALLY THOUGH- You have got to hear this- There’s another human in the Market. One of the _Trollhunter’s_ friends.” Scarab babbled on, flapping their hands excitedly at their chest. Tusk sighed quietly.

“Great. More humans.”

 

Scarab tilted their head with a frown, their black hair following their movements perfectly.

“What’s up with you and humans? You know a lot about them- or well, collect old stuff, yet you get all… _sulky_ whenever anyone mentions them. Humans are cool! We’ve got a real live human as our Trollhunter, this could mean good things for us and humans, you know?” Tusk couldn’t get a word in edgewise until Scarab was done- not that he minded, this was just how the Egyptian Troll was.

 

“I don’t get sulky, humans are just a touchy subject for me. Their stuff is cool and usually can’t hurt me, anyways. Don’t let me ruin your fun, though, okay? Go greet them and make a good impression if you’re this excited about it, maybe they’ll like you a lot. _I_ like you enough.” He sighed, reading through his ledgers quietly.

 

“Yeah maybe I w- wait, hurt you?” Scarab stopped in their tracks, and their shock was enough for Tusk to cut in before they said any more.

“It’s nothing, you read too far into other’s words sometimes.”

“Are you-”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Tusk’s gaze wandered up to Scarab with a deadpan expression.

 

The troll shrugged and glanced around the shop momentarily.

“I’m gonna go and… do that thing, you suggested. Greet the humans. See you later, Tusk.”

 

They were gone just as they had come in, quickly and quietly. Tusk ran a hand down his face. He wasn’t interested in humans, wasn’t interested in talking to them, and definitely did not want to be invested in anything the Trollhunter was doing. Humans only brought pain and fear. Not that he _hated_ humans, by any means, he’d just… rather not touch them or be within breathing space of one ever again. Ever.

 

Scarab meant well, but this just wasn’t his forte.

 

 

 

* * *

 

  
  
  


A week passed by rather uneventfully for him. Business was business as usual. Yet, he couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling in his gut, regardless of how monotonous his routine was. He could only dwell on Nika’s words, uncomfortably so. Sometimes he wished she didn’t say the things she said, but another part of him knew she was right, and that if she hadn’t addressed the issue… well, Tusk would have bottled everything up until Gorgas-knows-what happened.

 

Beyond business though- he couldn’t lie and say nothing happened. His friends visited him more often, which was… nice, if not suspicious. Anaya stopped by for jewelrymaking lessons, to which he gladly let her try her hand at his desk (after he’d stressed the importance of safety gear). The East Indian Troll was the youngest of the group, but by no means was she naive- she was hardworking and stood up for herself, something Tusk adored. It was like clockwork when the group had adopted her in as a little sister figure.  She was weaving together a bracelet while Tusk was polishing a Roman Bulla amulet on the end of his bed. Often Tusk collected enchanted and magical artifacts, though not so often did he sell them- unless they were harmless or benefitted the user. If an artifact had any potential danger, he’d never sell it to a customer. Those stayed in cases for his safekeeping, wrapped in linen. Not even his friends were allowed to see some of the artifacts, did Tusk deem it that dangerous.

 

Anaya had stopped working and had turned to him, watching him polish the Bulla in his hands. It was incredible, to her, how precise and gentle he was with everything he did, despite being so big compared to his work. Everything was intricate, and made with care to ensure it didn’t break easily or fall apart. Anaya admired his dedication deeply. Almost deeply enough to forget what she was intending to ask him.

 

“Tusk.” She started.

“Hmm?” His eyes didn’t leave the Bulla.

“Scarab says they talked to you earlier this week.”

“Oh yeah, they stopped by, they were real excited about that new human in the market. Thinks that this could lead to good relations between human and trollkind.” He mumbled, inspecting the Bulla with one eye peeking from behind his glasses.

“It could, maybe, but they also said you were being uh… ‘sulky’ about it.” She hummed, resting her head in her arms as she leaned over the back of the chair.

“I was not being sulky about it… I’m just not interested. Did they ask you to get an answer or something from me?”

“I- no- ...yes. But come on, seriously, you clam up about this subject so much, we’re just concerned for you. We know you care about us but- you really haven’t told us anything about you. I don’t even know how old you are.”

“One-thousand, two hundred and sixty eight years old.” He replied, without missing a beat.

“WHAT.”

“You never asked, so I never said anything.” He answered plainly.

“YOU’RE A FOSSIL.”

“I’m not that old.”

 

Anaya had gone on to ask a variety of questions about him, to which Tusk answered, mostly. He was still careful to dodge the initial subject of humans, regardless. That, nonetheless, had been the highlight of the day for him.

 

It was two days later that a human found him- specifically, the new one, who he’d heard was named Claire- a human girl, young, but the Trollhunter’s age, he assumed.

 

He didn’t speak to her directly- more like she wandered into the shop by herself while he was in his back room. He caught a glimpse, but the smell of human was telling enough. Tusk had hid in his room until she grew bored and left. Was he guilty for doing so? Maybe a bit, but it would pass, he assured himself.

 

Humans were nothing but trouble.


End file.
